


Dead Contortions

by babybrackish



Category: Slipknot (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghost Hunters, Gen, Rating is subject to change, corey is an avid ghost hunter and the others are just here for the ride, ghosts! mystery! spookiness!, intuitive/psychic!corey, tags are also subject to change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-25 01:09:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20368144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybrackish/pseuds/babybrackish
Summary: If there’s one thing to know about Corey Taylor, it’s that he has an affinity for the paranormal. An excitable ghost hunter with a knack for sniffing out the root causes of hauntings, he and his friends stumble upon a secret that soon plagues his dreams, leaving him unable to rest until he unravels the story and discovers the truth.





	Dead Contortions

**Author's Note:**

> this first chapter is just to get the ball rolling. the chapters following will likely be longer.
> 
> as of april 29th, work on chapter 2 has resumed!

The clock ticks.

Corey taps his fingers on the table, staring across the kitchen at the mouth of the hall and the stretching darkness beyond it. The wooden chair is wobbly beneath him, the surface of the table cold against his arms. The kitchen light is the only one in the house that’s on. He can just barely make out the foot of the stairs in the shadows beyond the doorway. 

His eyes slide towards the clock. It’s 1:12am. He’s been waiting for an hour and five minutes. Miss Elder said that the girl comes out at midnight. He frowns and looks back into the hallway. 

_ Where are you? _

Sighing, he stands up and carefully pads out of the kitchen. He figures he might as well check the recorders.

The hallway is frigid. He breathes sharply, pulling his jacket tighter around him. The skin on the back of his neck crawls and he pauses to breathe through the discomfort.  _ Goddamn you guys,  _ he thinks, bitterly resenting his friends for a moment for not coming with him. He may love the paranormal, but he’s an anxious motherfucker.  _ Whatever.  _

He sighs and continues on, scanning the area around him, tense. He pokes his head into the first floor bathroom. The EVP recorder rests on the porcelain counter, exactly as it’s supposed to be. He makes his way into the living room, rubbing his hands together as he ensures that the recording light of the camera is still going. He makes his rounds around the first floor, checking each camera and recorder - along with anything that may be misplaced. All is well. It’s a little dissatisfying. He stares up the staircase at the darkness of the second floor and swallows hard before creeping his way up. The stairs don’t creak, he realizes as he moves up, and a sudden bout of sickness washes over him; he won’t know if anyone’s coming.

Breathing hard, he reaches the second floor, looking around him quickly. No one is there. With a relieved breath, he does a quick check of the TV room and the bedrooms. With those secured, he reaches the very last one; the playroom. He inches his way in, moving towards the recorders he left inside. There’s something off in the room, he realizes. He does not know how or why he’s reached this conclusion, but he has. He isn’t sure what’s wrong at first; the recorders are fine and the toys seem to be in all the right places. He scans the room, biting his lip, when it finally catches his eye.

The closet door is open.

He stares, frozen. It’s not awfully wide, just enough for someone to stick their hand through. His heart shivers in his chest. He isn’t usually this scared, he doesn’t think, but he isn’t usually alone either. Taking deep breaths, he turns to the camera and adjusts it to get a better view of the closet. He moves to face the door again, making to leave the room.

The closet slams shut.

He jumps, inhaling sharply and clapping his hand over his mouth to hold back any shout, his eyes going wide. His heart races; blood pounds in his head. Breathing hard, he curses his friends again and half-runs from the room, making his way to the stairs on trembling legs. He really should not have come alone.

He starts down the stairs, gripping the rail with a tight fist. Something’s wrong here, too. He doesn’t like this. He stops a few steps down when he finally realizes, almost losing his footing. He can’t see a damn thing. He bites his lip, staring down into the pitch black. It wasn’t that dark down there when he came up. He’s sure of it. He moves slowly down the stairs as it starts to dawn on him; he’d left the kitchen light on. It should be reaching the hall. 

His heart kicks up again, the back of his neck tingling. He peers around the corner when he reaches the bottom.

The kitchen light is off.

Save for the faint blinking of the recording lights, the hallway is completely dark. He can’t see at all.

Licking his lips, he starts down the hall, clenching his shaking fists by his sides. The heavy silence sets off a chime of discomfort in his chest.

He stops halfway down the hall. His pulse spikes as he stares into the kitchen, dread embedded in the corners of his mind. 

_ Don’t go in there. You shouldn’t go in there. Something’s wrong. Something’s not right _ .

_ Don’t be a pussy, Corey,  _ he counters to himself. Taking a deep breath, he continues to the kitchen, growing shakier as he does.  _ Don’t be a pussy. Something’s wrong and you’re completely alone, but you’re not a coward. You’re not afraid. Don’t be a wimp.  _

He stops in the doorway, breath whistling as he reaches his arm in slowly. 

Something brushes against him. 

Yelping, he slaps the light switch. The fluorescents switch on, slowly flooding the kitchen with light. No one’s there. 

He races in, whirling around to stare into the hallway. Nothing.

_ Pussy. _

Breathing hard, he stumbles over to the table, sitting on the chair with a thump. His hands won’t stop shaking. It’s completely silent. It shouldn’t be.

He waits. He shouldn’t have come alone. Maybe he should go.

He looks up at the clock, and his stomach jumps to his throat. It’s not moving. It’s not ticking. He stares, frozen, for a good few moments.

The clock falls, smashing against the floor. He jumps to his feet, whirling around and making for the hallway, heart pounding so hard he can’t hear anything past himself.

He stops short, eyes growing wide.

There’s someone in the hallway. 

_ Oh fuck. Oh god. _

He turns and races for the back door. Someone’s running after him. He can’t breathe. His sight blurs.

He grips the door and forces it open, a hand tearing at his jacket. He screams and runs faster, tripping over his feet and almost falling onto his face. He looks around desperately and bolts for the fence, scrambling over it into the front yard and racing for his car. He falls against the car, looking behind him, panting hard. He pulls the keys from his pocket, shakes so bad he drops them and has to pick them back up. He shoves the main key in the slot, twisting frantically until the locks click.

He slides inside and slams the door shut, looking back at the house and trembling. There’s a light on upstairs. 

He swallows hard. He’ll get his equipment in the morning, he decides. For now he speeds away, firmly regretting his decision to come alone.  
  
  
  
  
  
—————————-  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“You  _ shouldn’t _ have gone alone,” Jim remarks idly the next day, once Corey’s gathered his things from the Elders’ house and recounted the events, although there’s no malice in his voice. 

Corey shoots him a glare, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Fuck off,” he grumbles. 

Jim snorts, picking a dish from the sink and scrubbing it. “You gonna go back anyway?”

“If someone’s with me.” Corey drums his fingers against his leg. “I don’t know who that was. Miss Elder said the girl just keeps to herself.”

“Maybe she has more than one ghost.”

“If she does, maybe the second one just doesn’t like me.”

Jim looks at Corey from the corner of his eye, chuckling at the pout on his face. “Maybe you’re just a magnet, Corey. It might have brought that one out.”

Corey grumbles under his breath, turning his attention to the bowl of peaches on Jim’s counter. He plucks one from the bowl, staring for a moment before biting into it. He stares at the surface of the counter, deep in thoughts that he’ll soon forget.

“Daddy!” Comes Griffin’s small shout from the living room. Jim chuckles. Corey, blinking as the haze in his mind recedes, wipes his mouth on his wrist, setting the peach on the counter (Jim gives him an incredulous look) and moves for the kitchen entrance.

“What is it, Griff?” 

Griff, sitting in front of the noisy TV, raises the cup clutched between his chubby little hands, waving it. “Can I have more?” he asks, eyes big.

Corey smiles, moving to ruffle Griffin’s hair and take the cup. “Sure thing.” He heads back to the kitchen, the TV droning on behind him. He pulls the orange juice from the fridge and sets the cup beside his half-eaten peach - which Jim has moved to a paper towel - before refilling it. Once he’s given it back to Griffin and put the gallon back in the fridge, Jim speaks.

“You know,” Jim says, “I think I got us a gig at that old brick house right outside of Pella.”

Corey takes the peach back, tilting his head at Jim. “Why are we needed there?”

“I don’t know. He just said that something’s wrong there. His grandmother believes in ghosts more than he does. She refuses to go home because she’s too scared. He thought we could prove her wrong so that she’d have some peace of mind.”

“Huh. Interesting. When does he want us there?”

“He said that tomorrow would be preferred but any time over the weekend would work.”

Corey nods, chewing thoughtlessly. “Saturday, then.”

Jim nods along with him. “I’ll give him a call.”

“Sounds like a plan.” 

The foreboding comes late in the night, makes its own bed in the back of his mind as he tries to focus on his card game with the guys.  _ Why are you here?  _ he tries to ask the feeling. It doesn’t respond.

He doesn’t fall asleep tonight. He lies in bed, staring at the ceiling, with the threat of impending doom hanging over his head.

He has a feeling.

He isn’t entirely sure what kind.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @headbanger-deluxe


End file.
